Stealing Cinderella
by Karevsanatomy
Summary: Mark and Meredith. AU. Mark asks Meredith's father for her hand in marriage.


-1**Author's Note: It would seem I am all about writing one shots today that are based of songs. This one was inspired by a country song called Stealing Cinderella, sung by Chuck Wicks. I never really paid attention to the lyrics until today. Then, while I was listening, this one shot unfolded in my mind. I wrestled around with who the couple should be. At first I was thinking Alex and Izzie, then George and Callie. I even thought about Meredith and Derek. Then it hit me. The perfect pair would be Mark and Meredith. I hope you enjoy!**

**To read the lyrics and see a video click here: **

**Stealing Cinderella**

A trembling hand balled into a fist, it was lifted by an arm that felt almost mechanical. Taking a deep breath the owner of the fist and arm, a rather terrified young man with shady blonde hair and silvery blue eyes, knocked on the carved wood door before him. For a moment he thought nobody was home, even though lights blazed in almost all the windows and the low rumbling of a television could be heard, and then the front door opened. His tongue twisted around itself, the speech he had practiced over and over escaping his mind.

"Can I help you?" The salt and pepper haired man who had answered the door stared at him curiously. Recognition dawned in the man's green eyes though. "You're Meredith's friend. Mike?"

"Mark," he stammered. His lungs were starting to burn. He forced himself to let the breath he had been holding out. "My name is Mark." He wanted to tell the older man that he was more than a friend but thought better of it. He needed this man to let him inside, to sit down and talk man to man.

"Mark. Right. Sorry. You'll have to excuse me. My mind isn't what it use to be. Old age, you know." The man couldn't have been over sixty. Hardly old. The good natured smile, so like his daughter's, told Mark he was only joking.

"I was hoping we could talk." Mark managed. Hoping didn't begin to cover it. He needed to have this talk. His future relied on it. Correction, his future with Meredith relied on it. She hadn't come out and said he couldn't propose without her father's permission, but it had been implied. Her father's opinion matter to her more than anything else.

"Sure, sure. Come on in. Meredith's upstairs."

Mark shook his head. "I was hoping I could have a word with you sir." His pulse was starting to regulate. Mr. Grey wasn't nearly as stern as he had feared. He had built up this God-like man with nerves of steel in his mind. He supposed it was partly due to the awe struck way Meredith spoke of him. A medical professor, Thatcher Grey deserved and garnered respect, demanded it. Was he a hard man? Mark was thinking no.

"I see." Thatcher's tone had turned thoughtful. He opened the door fully to allow Mark to enter the well lit foyer of the two story. Hesitantly Mark took a step inside, his black dress shoe squeaking on the honey colored wood floor. "Living room might be more comfortable." He motioned for Mark to follow.

Mark couldn't help letting his gaze wonder as he followed the other man down a wide hall way. Almost every square inch of the walls were covered with photographs, Meredith prominent in them all. A three year old, pig tailed Meredith in a bright green frilly two piece swim suit with purple popsicle on her mouth and chin, the remains clenched in her fist and melting. A seven year old Meredith wearing a prissy looking white night gown and jumping on her bed, a pillow being flung outwards as though she was starting a pillow fight. A ten year old Meredith grinning as she sat on a new purple My Little Pony bicycle. A six year old Meredith wearing a Cinderella costume and holding her father's hand.

Mark swallowed around the lump that was forming in his throat. His earlier fears were starting to creep back in. Meredith wasn't just a girl he loved, she was someone's daughter, a much loved daughter. Every single one of those pictures were a memory between father and daughter.

Above the mantel in the fireplace there was a large photograph of a teenage Meredith dancing with her father, wearing a pale pink ball gown and elbow length white gloves.  
"She's really something, isn't she?"

Thatcher's question drew his attention away from the image. He could do little more than nod. Something in the man's voice gave away the fact that he didn't see his daughter as a woman, but the little girl who wore Cinderella costume's and ate grape popsicles. "Yeah. She is."

"She's always going to be my little girl, you know that right?"

Mark nodded. He knew. The lump grew larger. "I love her very much."

"I figured you did. You wouldn't be here if you didn't. I respect what you're doing. Not many young men would. They would just buy the ring, ask the girl, then work out the family approval." Thatcher laid a hand on his shoulder, staring up at the photograph.

"Not many women are Meredith." Mark answered. Not many women were Meredith. She was special, her heart larger and more giving than most. All of it due to the man standing next to him. Her mother had walked out when she was two, leaving her father to raise her alone. The man had done an amazing job. "I'm scared, you know, to do this." The admission came only because he knew the older man would understand.

"I would have been surprised if you weren't." Thatcher smiled ruefully. He took his hand from Mark's shoulder. He turned to face the younger man. "I have learned that it is always best to get this sort of thing over with quickly."

Nodding again, Mark licked his lips. "Sir, I would like to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage." There. He had done it. A sense of pride swelled in his chest.

The two men stared at each other for a moment. "You promise to make her happy?" Thatcher asked. Mark nodded. Meredith's happiness was all he ever wanted. He lived for a smile on her beautiful face. "You'll let her have her way on occasion?" They both knew Meredith always had her way. Mark nodded anyways. "And you'll let her come home often?"

"Any time she wants," Mark promised. His pulse was starting its rapid drumming again. His hand automatically goes to his right pants pocket. His grandmother's marquis diamond seemed to be burning a hole in his pocket.

"Meredith!" Mark jumped as the man bellowed his daughter's name. There was a soft thumping on the stairs just outside the living room. His breath caught in his throat when she appeared. Her long wavy dark blonde hair hung around her face, her pink lips tipped up in a soft smile. The yellow sweater she wore was he had bought her, the faded and ripped jeans ones he had seen her wear often. He was glad she wore what she wore. If she had dressed up it would have felt different, as though she was someone else. "This young man has something he would like to ask you."

"Mark?" Meredith whispered, her green eyes searching his. She stepped closer, the soft scent of lavender intoxicating his senses. "What are you doing here?" Her arms lifted, wrapping around his neck. His arms instinctively engulfed her in a tight embrace. If not for the audience they had he would have kissed her. Instead, he set her back. "Mark?" She frowned slightly, then parted her lips in shock as he lowered himself to one knee. Her hands fly to her mouth.

"Meredith Ellis Grey, will you do me the honor of being my wife?" Mark asked, his voice loud and clear. He had never been more sure of anything in his entire life. He pulled the ring from his pocket, sliding it onto her finger.

She looked towards her father, who nodded. "Yes!" Meredith cried, crouching down and throwing herself into his arms. He fell backwards, landing on his rear. Tears running down her cheeks, she laughed, pressing kisses on his face. "Yes, Mark, I'll marry you!"

Leaning his cheek against her head, Mark stared up at Thatcher. Happiness and sorrow were etched in the man's eyes. In Meredith's eyes he was Prince Charming, but in her father's he was the man stealing Cinderella.


End file.
